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dynamightmite · 2 years

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Since Bakugo's back in the manga, I'm seeing more of the same old arguments about why Bakugo's actually a bad character/person/whatever circling the fandom, and I figured, since no one asked, I'd share my thoughts and maybe dispute some of the more frequent issues people have. Considering my username, I feel like it's basically my duty lmao.

To start with the one I hear most often:

1) Bakugo gets away with being an asshole and his attitude is terrible

Horikoshi spends a lot of time working through the fact that while Bakugo can genuinely be a huge dick, he "gets away" with his general loud-mouthed, crass, rude attitude because, for the most part, people don't take him seriously. Like, Horikoshi goes out of his way to show him openly being mocked (bus ride to the USJ facility, during his internship with Best Jeanist a bunch of kids taunt him, the whole remedial course program with the kids who think he's as threatening as a house fly, basically every pro hero he interacts with), but also has the other characters mostly disregard the things Bakugo says. Why? Because it's made clear, frequently and often, that he doesn't actually mean them. He'll tell Kaminari he'll kill him and not even move. There's no follow through, and he's often teased about it or ignored. At best, someone will express annoyance. The use of other characters as a tonal tell is a method of including us, the audience, in the joke. The joke being, in this case, that whatever Bakugo's saying is meant sarcastically/humorously. Like most things, it's all about context.

Additionally, did you think the scene with Bakugo's mom was supposed to just be funny? It also is meant to inform the audience about where Bakugo got his speaking habits from, and helps show that, to him, telling someone to go fuck themselves is just like. How you talk to people. Pretty sure he genuinely thinks shouting is how you show you're listening and engaged. Class 1A picks up very quickly that, while yes Bakugo has a temper, he's almost all bark and no bite, except for the occasions when he does actually lose it. Which leads me to another common complaint:

2) Bakugo experiences no real consequences

This is just... straight up not true. Just about every single time he acts like an actual asshole, Bakugo gets immediate and direct consequences that occur specifically because of his own actions.

Examples: Bakugo gets all uppity about having a powerful quirk and tells Midoriya to kill himself -> he nearly gets murdered like two hours later because he's unable to defend himself. He tries to attack Midoriya on their first day of school -> he loses their first real fight (in front of their childhood hero no less) and gets pretty solidly humiliated. He goes nuts at the sports festival -> he doesn't get many internship opportunities he gets kidnapped by a fucking terrorist group. He smacks Midoriya during their final exam and doesn't want to cooperate -> Midoriya Detroit smashes his face lol. He acts like a huge asshole at the licensing exam -> he doesn't get his hero license. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

And if your argument is that those aren't "real" consequences or whatever, keep in mind that part of writing consequences for a character well means tailoring them to what that character cares about and finds important, which guess what—Horikoshi does. All the consequences Bakugo faces tie into his character growth, and deal with issues that he takes extremely seriously, namely his hero career. Equally—and I've mentioned this before—it is not in the spirit of the story to go full on Gone Girl fuck-up-your-life on characters who start off being less than stellar. Especially since Bakugo basically functions as the character version of a moral litmus test for the audience; if you can't bring yourself to believe that a schoolyard bully deserves a second chance, how can you ever believe that real villains, who have killed people and done other awful shit, could ever deserve a shot at redemption?

Moving on!

3) Bakugo is too OP/has too much plot armor

To some extent, I mean, yeah. That's a fair argument. Bakugo is a prodigy, that's a big part of his character, and his quirk doesn't have any specific downsides or limitations the end up hindering him more than in passing. However, I will point out that as the story goes on and we're introduced to more pro heroes, overpowered quirks with limited or no downsides become much more common, so it doesn't stick out as much. Besides, when creating a character who wants to be the best hero in the world, who you'd like to have even a fighting chance in a universe where almost everyone has super powers, he kind of needs to have a badass quirk. Also, considering All Might is the figure both Bakugo and Midoriya are trying to live up to... that is overpowered. And as we're seeing in the manga, Bakugo is starting to come up short in the rat race. So I think some of the OP arguments had greater merit back in the day, but I don't really feel like they hold much water anymore.

When it comes to the plot armor issue... I see people's points, and don't always disagree, but Bakugo is the deuteragonist of the story, and he's in a shonen manga. Like of course he's got plot armor. Most of the universe wouldn't even function if there wasn't a lot of plot armor, because many of the quirks we see are basically magic and the fight scenes require a heck of a lot of suspension of disbelief. In the real world Deku wouldn't even have arms anymore. So yeah, I get it, but also... you know. Chill.

Lastly:

4) Bakugo hasn't actually made up for his actions against Midoriya

This one kind of ties in with the consequences one and also the attitude one, in that a lot of people's arguments about this are frankly just unrealistic. Like what exactly do you want Bakugo to do that he hasn't already done? Change his personality entirely? Be publicly humiliated and experience horrific suffering? What is the purpose? Especially when Midoriya, the person Bakugo has most hurt, has never once expressed that he wants Bakugo to be less like himself. He just wants them to be closer. Yes he could yell less, but Midoriya likes being competitive with Bakugo, he likes having someone who pushes him and won't put up with bullshit. He doesn't actually want Bakugo to change who he is as a person.

Additionally, I think it's only fair to point out that Bakugo has done most of his growth largely unaided and by himself. That's incredibly impressive. Like he, a sixteen year old with an inferiority complex and anger issues, realizes he was out of line and has a fucked-up view of the world and his relationships, and spends a lot of time, energy, and care in basically overhauling his entire life philosophy. Again, pretty much completely by himself. He takes responsibility for his own actions, he goes out of his way to try and fix his mistakes, he apologizes to Midoriya (publicly, expressing the emotions and reasons behind his actions without excusing them, and without pressuring Midoriya to forgive him, allowing the ball to fall firmly in Midoriya's court), and works to support Midoriya in any way he can, including taking a fucking bullet (slash weird finger blade thingy) to the chest to protect him. Nobody forced Bakugo to do those things, he chose to because he genuinely wants to do and be better. At this point, sure he's still a loud-mouth little shit, but being a loud-mouth little shit was never the problem, and he's addressed the things that were problems.

Basically, the point I'm trying to make is that while it's absolutely fine to not like Bakugo—he'll never appeal to everyone, no character can—a lot of the issues people bring up with him are relatively unfounded or over-exaggerated. If you're someone who dislikes him, cool! Just try to find something less superficial to criticize him for.

#bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha 358 #bakugo #bkdk

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hamliet · 2 years

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Enemies to Lovers: Cezhou's Defeats & Victories

Enemies to lovers. Such a popular trope, and such a well-used one in Qiang Jin Jiu. But, as I said here, the ultimate enemy Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye each face is not each other, nor is it the corrupt dynasty or the Biansha Tribe.

It’s themselves.

Shen Zechuan said leisurely, “I can just admire myself in the mirror; there’s no need for another person.”

“You still don’t know how to have fun.” Xiao Chiye said. “How can self-admiration be as delightful as being admired by me? Both of us have to be reflected in the mirror for it to be aesthetically rousing.”

With glistening eyes rippling with desires, Shen Zechuan asked, “So what’s considered aesthetically rousing?”

“Seeing is believing.” Xiao Chiye checked Shen Zechuan’s temperature. “Try it with me one of these days, and you’ll find out.”

Shen Zechuan is wrong in this passage. He needs to see others around him--especially, of course, Xiao Chiye. Xiao Chiye, too, needs to have Shen Zechuan there to not just be fully alive, but to be fully himself. This begins even before the novel proper begins: Shen Zechuan was saved from the Chashi Sinkhole by his elder martial brother, Ji Mu, and was then immediately captured by Xiao Jiming, the elder brother of his future other-half. What Shen Zechuan lacks, he finds in Xiao Chiye, and vice versa.

What does it mean to lose yourself, and what does it mean to find yourself? Well, let’s look at Cezhou’s losses and victories, shall we? Specifically, their first major military losses operating on their own: to Huo Lingyun and to Hasen, and then their final military victories on their own: over Qudu and over Hasen.

Defeat: Huo Lingyun and Hasen 1.0

Both Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye experience a defeat at their first conflict with Huo Lingyun and Hasen. The difference, of course, is that Xiao Chiye’s defeat is in-person, while Shen Zechuan’s defeat is via his representatives in Fei Sheng and his troops. This fits with Shen Zechuan’s role, as observed by Xiao Fangxu: “Men like this can’t fight battles, yet they can come out on top to stand upon a mountain of corpses amidst a sea of blood.”

Through seeing how Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye interact with these respective foils in Huo Lingyun, Hasen, and Li Jianting (all five of whom claim legacies via seeking revenge for family; in 4/5 cases it’s their fathers specifically), we can see not only the central flaws Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye each respectively overcome, but what the novel is trying to say about what it means to get to know yourself, what it means to create a lover from an enemy, and what victory over an enemy actually is.

Shen Zechuan and Huo Lingyun

How Shen Zechuan finds himself seems pretty clear. Throughout the novel Shen Zechuan slowly gathers allies, who all represent parts of himself:

Ji Gang: desire to live and grief

Xiao Chiye: strength and family

Qiao Tianya: bitterness and loss

Yao Wenyu: physical weakness

Gao Zhongxiong: shame

Fei Sheng: the search for a purpose

Hairigu: his mother’s legacy

Huo Lingyun: trauma

Qi Zhuyin: non-conforming and underestimated

Hua Xiangyi: kindness

This list is by no means exhausted and is simplified, but you get the idea. Not to mention, most of these people have, at some point perhaps with the one exception of Ji Gang, been an enemy or at the very least a rival of Shen Zechuan’s.

Shen Zechuan starts the novel with nothing, with every part of his life seemingly over except for the physical, which is locked up. Of course that’s symbolic too: Shen Zechuan’s primary internal conflict is in locking himself up and hiding his true nature.

Shen Zechuan’s true nature is not fierce either: it’s wounded and empty; submissive, no, but hollow all the same. Yes, he bites back, but because he was first bitten. He has little purpose or drive: yeah, he’s leading a rebellion, but why exactly? He’s not great at answering that question, because to answer that question would mean admitting certain things about himself that he would rather not.

Yet, Xiao Chiye is aware of Shen Zechuan’s true nature from the start. It’s important that Shen Zechuan becomes completely unable to hide it during a physical act (sex) because the physical is Shen Zechuan’s sacrificial mask in other circumstances, but not with Xiao Chiye. Instead, the physical heals with Xiao Chiye.

He could not keep up an ounce of pretense, and what remained of “Shen Zechuan” lay fully exposed before Xiao Chiye. This was a side of him that Shen Zechuan himself could not bring himself to face. All that had to do with hypocrisy, deceit, and hostility was swept up into the tidal waves of desire.

So what is this part of himself Shen Zechuan cannot face? Shen Zechuan has been hurt his entire life. In contrast to Xiao Chiye, he does not need to defeat himself. He needs to embrace and accept every part of himself in order to find his purpose. These hypocrisies, deceits, hostilities, betrayal and loyalty and hatred, are all most blatantly embodied in Huo Lingyun.

Huo Lingyun, like Shen Zechuan, operates from the shadows and masks his true self. He sets up an elaborate plan to get revenge for his father’s death at King Li’s hand, but uses his own body as bait for it (much like Shen Zechuan continually does, to Xiao Chiye’s chagrin: while Huo Lingyun’s bait is sexual and Shen Zechuan’s is violent, they are both still sacrificing their bodies for a cause).

Huo Lingyun is sexually abused by King Li and then by Cuiqing, and then has the woman torn apart by dogs. The woman is the one who raised and sold Shen Zechuan’s mother--even if not as a prostitute, there is certainly a sense of poetry to this woman being finally destroyed by a clear parallel of Shen Zechuan. Huo Lingyun succeeds by acting as if his father meant nothing to him, when in actuality, his father meant everything to him.Shen Zechuan also starts off motivated in part by a father, to prove that “Shen Wei never collaborated with the enemy.” And indeed Shen Wei didn’t, but it was precisely Shen Wei’s intense fear of being seen as collaborating with the enemy that led to him strangling Bai Cha, a woman who was not only Shen Zechuan’s mother but one of the few people who cared for others no matter their heritage.

So, who then is Shen Zechuan really fighting for? Just for himself? He states that this is the case:

“Regardless of who my parents are... I am Shen Zechuan... I am my own nightmare.” ... Shen Wei, Bai Cha. He did not care for them at all.

Surely this is somewhat true, but is this entirely accurate? Shen Zechuan is a highly unreliable narrator, holding the reader at a distance as he holds most people (save Xiao Chiye). It might have been accurate when he spoke it, but it is almost certainly not actually accurate considering he didn’t even know his mother’s story at the time. When he accepts his mother’s true story from Hairigu, he gains new allies in those his mother helped save.

Similarly, when Shen Zechuan accepts Huo Lingyun, he gains another new ally (and invigorate the flagging loyalty of Qiao Tianya). Huo Lingyun is first introduced to Shen Zechuan as a prisoner in shackles too heavy for him, and Xiao Chiye initially dislikes him. (Fei Sheng’s attitude towards Huo Lingyun is a mirror of Xiao Chiye’s attitude towards Shen Zechuan too.) It’s all very much a callback to the first chapters of the novel, and a challenge to Shen Zechuan to acknowledge the parts of himself he would rather not: his weakness, his suffering, and the consequences of his actions.

Everyone mistrusts Huo Lingyun, for good reason, just as they mistrusted Shen Zechuan. Huo Lingyun doesn’t do himself a lot of favors when he insults Xiao Chiye. But, it is then significant that Xiao Chiye stands up to him and helps Huo Lingyun find a place, because this moment reflects how Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan are polishing each other by working together like iron sharpening iron. Shen Zechuan gives Huo Lingyun a chance symbolizes him giving the worst parts of himself a chance to improve, trusting Xiao Chiye to hold them in check.

Xiao Chiye and Hasen

If Shen Zechuan’s motif is finding and specifically gathering, Xiao Chiye’s is in losing. But, he’s a victorious general, obviously, though this by no means comes easily to him. By the time he’s faced his first loss in battle, he’s already lost in other ways:

His home

Tantai Hu (whom he gains back, but the point is that Xiao Chiye has to first lose things to get them back)

His friend, Li Jianheng

Xiao Jiming has been defeated

His own reputation is shot

But how do you tame a wild animal? As is noted by Xiao Chiye himself with Meng, the falcon, through hardships. Torture even, breaking its will, etc. Hence, it makes sense that for Xiao Chiye to tame himself, he has to lose again and again and again.

That said, Xiao Chiye faces no military defeat until he does at Hasen’s hand. And in contrast to Shen Zechuan’s standoffishness creating his own defeat with Huo Lingyun via Fei Sheng, it’s Xiao Chiye’s activeness that creates his defeat:

Xiao Chiye thought he was taking the initiative, but he was, in fact, paralyzing himself. Right from the moment he decided to turn around and head for the Tudalong Banner, he had already fallen into the role of the passive player.

Hasen himself takes note of this:

“His desire to win is too strong... Like my father, he won’t allow himself to cower and retreat. This is his strength, but also his weakness...”

So what saves Xiao Chiye’s life this battle? Well, firstly, Shen Zechuan (even though, as is usual for Shen Zechuan’s battle motif, he’s not physically present):

A loud “THUD” rang out as the blow was blocked by the arm guard Shen Zechuan had gifted him.

And of course, his father riding in to save the day. Xiao Fangxu’s following advice to Xiao Chiye about his defeat is interesting:

“You don’t need seven years to defeat Hasen.” Xiao Fangxu gazed at Xiao Chiye and said, “But you must learn to be tolerant.”

The interesting part of this is that this statement occurs within Xiao Fangxu expressing his insatiable desire to win in warfare. What does tolerance have to do with that?

Because the real battle isn’t physical. It’s inside. I’m not saying it’s a trite “believe in yourself” (on the contrary) but instead it’s about taming yourself for the sake of a broader picture. Taming wild beasts is a motif of Xiao Chiye: he tames Meng the falcon, his wild horse, even Shen Zechuan to an extent, but the one he ultimately needs to tame is himself. He can’t act selfishly. He has to act with the good of others in mind, including his family. He has to act with love, which is not the same as acting with desire (hence why it’s symbolic Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan’s relationship starts with being purely physical and slowly becomes something far more intimate).

Xiao Chiye, much like Shen Zechuan, cannot be motivated by simply wanting to defeat enemies, because often enemies are part of you. He must be motivated by those who love him and whom he loves.

When Xiao Chiye is first brought back to Qudu, he lashes out multiple times at Shen Zechuan because he sees himself in him: an innocent child in prison for the military actions of a father and brother. The only difference is that for Shen Zechuan, it was the Shens’ defeat; for Xiao Chiye, it was Xiao Jiming’s victory. Win or lose; it’s all the same. The children still wind up as prisoners, not just of corrupt kingdoms, but of hatred and warfare and corruption. We see it with Huo Lingyun, with Hasen, with Li Jianheng, Li Jianting, and more.

Xiao Chiye and Hasen 2.0

Xiao Chiye then finds himself engaging in a series of victories over Biansha. Well, victories-ish. Because the motif of losing to be tamed is still there.

Firstly, Xiao Chiye loses his father, but then finds some semblance of himself back when he singlehandedly storms the enemy camp to get Xiao Fangxu’s head back. It’s interesting that he interrupts Hasen as Hasen is pondering the reality of what victory might mean:

To both parties, excessive compassion was tantamount to suicide...

What does strict revenge actually offer? The answer is that it offers nothing.

Hasen had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

“But you don’t look very happy,” Wulihan said.

“Not quite what I expected.” Hasen held up the bowl with both hands and remembered his war trophy. “I grew up listening to legends of him. He’s invincible, coming from my father’s mouth.”

Killing just continues the cycle. Xiao Chiye getting his father back is, on the one hand, an incredibly risky and stupid move. On the other hand, he succeeds thematically because he’s driven by pure love for his father. He will not allow his father’s legacy to be a head mocked by enemies. Victory is not in killing or battling an enemy.

Xiao Chiye’s subsequent confrontation with Hasen warns him of what could happen:

He stared at Hasen and said, one word at a time, “Give my father back to me.”

Hasen brushed back the red hair that was hanging over his eyes and looked at Xiao Chiye as he said in a cold, detached voice, “Then, when will your father give my brother back to me?”

Xiao Chiye had already sprung closer. He had no wish to hear Hasen speak at all...

Hasen twirled out a new piked dagger between his fingers. He slid those fingers along the cold gleam of the blade and said expressionlessly, “I’m merely returning the favor tit for tat.”

Xiao Chiye has no wish to hear Hasen speak, because compassion has little place in the world of Qiang Jin Jiu’s Dazhou. Or does it? Because Bai Cha’s legacy endures because of her compassion, not in spite of it. Xiao Chiye gets his life saved because of Shen Zechuan’s romantic love, not in spite of it. Xiao Fangxu’s head is rescued because of compassion, not in spite of it.

Yet, Xiao Chiye has already learned an important lesson: to defeat an enemy, you have to learn to think like them. Instead of relying on his own strength and prowess, like he did the first time he fought Hasen, he learns to think like his enemy, and that is what gives him a heads-up (i’m sorry) that something is wrong with Xiao Fangxu.

Xiao Chiye... paced back and forth in the same place and rubbed away those haphazardly drawn lines. He gradually stopped tracing Xiao Fangxu’s path and put himself in Hasen’s position.

To overcome himself, he must think like the enemy. To defeat his enemy, he must overcome himself. Xiao Chiye is as much his own enemy as Hasen is, and everyone realizes this. It’s why the Empress Dowager is convinced Xiao Jiming and Xiao Chiye will turn on each other, why Xiao Fangxu scolds him instead of praising him, and why Shen Zechuan nearly ends up dead from a certain kick. But in each of these relationships, love proves to be an elixir healing them, helping Xiao Chiye paradoxically become more himself and also more like those around him. Chief among these is Cezhou.

Xiao Chiye’s relationship with Shen Zechuan can be seen as symbolic of a new way forward, of making family out of enemies.

Of course, the other party has to be willing, and Hasen is not:

“After tonight, my name will overshadow the Libei Armored Cavalry. I’ll make you people pay back double for what you owed me since the battles on the eastern mountain ranges.”

Hasen claims to be repaying Xiao Fangxu “tit for tat” for Xiao Fangxu killing his brother. But an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. This is the same path Shen Zechuan started the novel on, but thanks to his relationship with Xiao Chiye, has been pulled back from.

We see this thematic line continued through Xiao Chiye fighting two more battles against Biansha.

Firstly, he fights A-Chi at the Chashi Sinkhole by tricking A-Chi into falling into the same trap Xiao Chiye once fell into: being too quick to act. Xiao Chiye even changes the field via literally moving the goalposts to trick A-Chai. He’s learning to see the playing field, the bigger picture beyond his wants and needs. Just like Xiao Chiye’s first loss against Hasen, we see Shen Zechuan’s armguard saving Xiao Chiye’s life.

When Xiao Chiye gets buried in the sinkhole with Lang Tao Xue Jin, it’s symbolic of his primitive, immature, animalistic side being buried. He’s symbolically pulled out of the sinkhole by Shen Zechuan, of course, who is terrified. This accomplishes two things: firstly, instead of losing another beloved person to the sinkhole like he lost Ji Mu, Shen Zechuan is able to pull Xiao Chiye out by his hand. Secondly, it forces Xiao Chiye to experience the human crush Shen Zechuan had barely survived back then, even if only for a few moments, forcing him literally into the experience of someone he once considered an enemy. Shen Zechuan, too, goes from being a physical yet object guard to being a physical presence pulling Xiao Chiye from the battlefield, and saving him from the trauma he himself experienced.

It’s only after that experience, that empathy and Shen Zechuan’s saving him, that Xiao Chiye is able to grow up at last. Xiao Chiye is given the chance to grow via learning how to work with his enemies--whether they are Biansha or even from Libei (Guo Weili, who attacked Gu Jin). It’s telling that this is the opportunity Xiao Jiming offers Xiao Chiye to prove he’s really ready to fully grow up and lead in their father’s stead: can you reconcile with your enemies?

And then Xiao Chiye can defeat Hasen at last. This time, Shen Zechuan is not just present in an object, nor does he arrive to save Xiao Chiye after the battle. This time, he’s a physical presence, because the two of them are fully one now.

That Xiao Chiye will defeat Hasen at last at Duanzhou is a fitting conclusion: it happens in the same place where Shen Zechuan’s nightmare, where the sins of Shen Wei, linger , thereby resolving Xiao Chiye’s need for revenge for his father, and also for Shen Zechuan’s torture after Shen Wei’s defeat and for Bai Cha’s abuse and murder. For Shen Zechuan’s part, he cannot do it all by himself. He can only reclaim his legacy through others (Xiao Chiye, Fei Sheng, Huo Lingyun, Qiao Tianya, etc).

Xiao Chiye also can only reclaim his trauma through another (Shen Zechuan). Insofar as the trauma concerning Xiao Fangxu’s death is concerned, the final battle at the Chashi Sinkhole is not about Hasen and Xiao Chiye, or Xiao Fangxu. It’s about Xiao Chiye first and foremost saving what he loves in Shen Zechuan. And it’s Shen Zechuan’s presence that gets Hasen and Xiao Chiye to confront one another. That Hasen almost kills Shen Zechuan and indeed wants to use Shen Zechuan’s death to taunt Xiao Chiye is symbolic of Hasen recognizing that befriending your enemies is a new way forward, and not being particularly enthused about it.

Yet the ultimate end goal is not accomplished with Hasen’s death. Amu’Er continues to want to kill in revenge, even though he himself threatened Hasen to bring results or face his wrath.

Duo’Erlan waffles between wanting to save her child and wanting revenge. She and Amu’Er both demand that Xiao Chiye give her back Hasen, much like Xiao Chiye demanded that Hasen give him back his father, and so on. The end of Xiao Chiye’s arc is less about killing Amu’Er as it is about sparing Duo’Erlan (a vengeful, angry, hurting person who lost their home and the people they love; aka she’s a Shen Zechuan foil, and a Xiao Chiye one). Xiao Chiye kills the mighty legendary warrior he has always been destined to be, but saves the future he has (raising a child) despite Duo’Erlan’s begging him to kill her if she can’t get revenge.

Shen Zechuan, Li Jianting, & the Role of Emperor

Shen Zechuan’s arc is about his identity, which is not found in the Shens, who rejected him and ignored his existence out of paranoia. It is also not found in a throne or in victory, and it is certainly not found in hatred. Instead, it’s found in acknowledging those who loved him: his allies and their trust in him, his mother and the legacy she left, and the legacy Shen Zechuan builds with Xiao Chiye.

His victory comes when he finds that others need him as emperor, and when he accepts that he can be a good one. One cannot truly become their own person without other people. His victory is in accepting his role with Xiao Chiye’s help.

In a tragic sense, Shen Zechuan also foils Li Jianting here. In the end, she chose to identify herself with her heritage. If her heritage burned, then she would burn with it. She could see no other purpose, and it’s tragic.

Conclusion

Xiao Chiye ends up back in Qudu, but this time he is not a prisoner, but the emperor’s husband. It’s not the circumstances that matter but the people. Additionally, Xiao Jiming sends Xun’Er to Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye to raise as heir, a reversal of both Shen Zechuan’s and Xiao Chiye’s circumstances at the beginning. Xiao Xun’s presence is not as a hostage, but instead as an expression of trust in family, of love.

#cezhou #qiang jin jiou #qjj meta #qjj #shen zechuan #xiao chiye #huo lingyun #li jianting #ling ting #hasen #duo'erlan #xiao xun

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sonicku · 1 year

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My thoughts on the new Sonic Prime clip, along with Prime!Tails as a whole.

(Before we start, I'll be refering to the Tails from the first shatterverse as 'Prime!Tails' and Modern Tails as 'Tails'. Just because I don't think theres a general consensus yet, and we haven't seen much of the other shatterverses as of posting.)

Okay! Now for the actual meat of this! First, I'll talk about the more practical side of things.

I have to start by saying that I LOVE how expressive their new models are, along with how they're used. Even with the BOOM cartoon (which I love, by the way) they were never this fluid and expressive. And do I even need to mention it in comparision to the games? Like, I love that they tried more in Frontiers with the faces, but this is leauges above it. Even the ears move! The ears!

With the pixel art animation, I do have to admit some bits seemed a bit janky, expecially Sonic's sprite. HOWEVER, the shot of Prime!Tails at his workbench was absoloutley gourgeous in my opinion. And my opinion is always correct. /j

The voices definitely take getting used to, but I've already warmed up to Prime!Tails' Ashleigh Ball within a few rewatches of this clip. Something about his more mature and... depressing voice and direction is so fitting for this itteration of the character; though I do wonder how it will feel with other shatterverse versions of him.

Prime!Sonic, however? I don't know, he's just... different. Not better, not worse, just a change I've got to get used to. I joined this fandom in the Roger Craig Smith era, and even going back to Sonic Adventure threw me off with the voice of Ryan Drummond. So it'll take me time to get a feel for Deven Mack, but I've got my hopes up that he'll be a great Sonic!

Okay, more story based stuff now! Before I gush, I need to get one nitpick out of the way that made me want to bite the writers ankles. THE TORNADO IS SONIC'S PLANE, NOT TAILS'. I'm willing to accept this as an alternate fact of the Prime universe, but it's such a weird discrepancy to have? Maybe he was just making it sound cooler for the poor guy. In which case, fair enough Prime!Sonic, fair enough.

I've always loved the dynamic between Sonic and Tails, but this clip is making the reason why even clearer to me. Sonic, for Tails, represents loved ones who support you and your disability. I'll be using this as an autism allegory, since that's my experience.

If you find the right people, and they are out there, they can help you experience the postitives of your disability even through all of the pain it's brought to you. For Tails, it's his bullying and the power of flight. For me, it's my alienation and heightened connection to things I love. Tails had Sonic, and I had my autstic friends, and autistic partner.

But Prime!Tails had no connection. He had no Sonic. He's spent a life with no support network to help him through this, and to bring out the best in him. All he's had is a cold, ablist world, one that broke him down for years until he snapped. Until everybodies lack of passion took the spark he had left. Until he fought back with violence and anger, a face pained like no eight year old's should ever be.

They're two sides of the same coin, and from the start, the same person. Whether there was people around him who loved him and accepted him was all that stopped him Tails from tearing himself apart all those years ago. He could have been Prime!Tails with different circumstances, and vica virsa.

It makes me wonder, though. With the different shatterverses, will his mental state change too? There's no reason to believe that the others are as cold and heartless as the first, so perhaps he was able to find his place in the world, even without Prime!Sonic. I think that would be important to show; there isn't one set person who is the saving grace, it's a series of people, a series of actions, an entire enviroment.

There's been a lot of thoughts in my head about this so I might be forgetting some, I'll reblog with extra if I remember anything. TLDR? This clip was fucking incredible.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic prime #sonic prime spoilers #miles tails prower #prime!tails #prime!sonic #sonicku

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hometownrockstar · 2 years

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one time i got this youtube vid recommended to me that was titled smth like "How to write a good twist" and it compared the story twists in Invincible and Squid Games (spoilers for just Squid Games in this post, in case you havent seen it for some reason) and i was like yeah i'll bite bc i like both those shows. so i watched it and boiling down the difference between these twists is: rewatching while knowing Invincible's twist recontextualizes many off-hand moments and lines in a satisfying way, while knowing Squid Game's twist makes those moments worse on a rewatch. and watching this i agreed with the way he explained it, i think he made good points as to why squid game's twist is bad in a typical storywriting way especially compared to invincible which does those typical ways well, but i ended the video disagreeing based on my own experience when i first watched squid game.

I dont think the twist in Squid Game is genius or anything, but the reaction other people had to it caught me off-guard, as they seemed to think it was for shock, or just dumb, or like how that video guy said, ruined the "touching" moments with Oh Il-nam in hindsight. but for me, while watching the scene in the room with the clock, i tried to think abt how it fits into the anticapitalist metaphor the entire show is based and themed around. Contrasting Gi-hun's refusal to use his newly gained wealth to better himself or anything around him with Il-nam's selfish desires to simply have fun in spite of how many die because of it and how he knows his money cushions him from responsibility or any risk in the games unlike the other contestants. and Gi-hun realizing that he isnt like Il-nam, and that he has to move past his survivor's guilt to help others with what he has, the same way he helped Il-nam during the games despite it being a much greater risk to him with no reward.

Taking these thoughts and keeping them in mind during a rewatch, i dont believe it ruins any of those moments for me. it doesnt make them happier or more optimistic, but it recontextualizes this character and his actions and roles into a new metaphor for people under capitalism (as i believe every character represents a different facet of how people navigate through it, whether it be through force, deception, or kindness and community). Before the twist, Il-nam is an elderly man with no family, healthcare or social programs to properly take care of him. he is also seen as a burden on others by those also in the games, refusing to compromise themselves to help him. thus, Gi-hun's actions have always felt like the centerpiece of this relationship to me, showing that you need to stand by one another and protect the most vulnerable, and how this isnt naiveté but bravery. its also strategic, as his kindness and ideas had helped him and others many times throughout the games. brute force and deception arent the only ways to make it.

but when the twist is realized, it shows that Il-nam was never at risk. his money and power as well as his knowledge of the games beforehand always protected him from facing consequences and gave him an undue advantage, one that is overlooked by the floormaster despite stating previously that the fairness in the game is the most important element. Gi-hun going out of his way to help him and this directly leading him surviving several of the games and finally winning, only to find out the seemingly pathetic old man everybody avoided had played a hand in his victory in the end, this sounds like a happy ending to a fable about teaching kindness. but it obviously isnt, as its supposed to be a souring twist, one meant to make you feel like Gi-hun: cheated and just as guilty as Il-nam is. but Gi-hun is able to refuse to go along with his selfish games or concede that it was all worth it in the end, and return to his kind ways he had lost after the game.

this is why i dont think its a bad twist solely based on whether it makes the touching moments between Il-nam and Gi-hun feel bad in hindsight. rather, it emphasizes Gi-hun's uncompromising morals and reasserts them in the end when he confronts Il-nam. and i think a twist isnt bad or good based on whether those moments feel "ruined" again, but instead if they recontextualize it and fit the broader themes of the story in a satisfying way. but i dont like saying this or that trope or rule of writing is THE way to write things, thats the whole reason i wrote this post actually, to show why i disagree with that single view of how a twist "should" be written.

#read my squid game analysis post NOW.

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holyluvr · 8 months

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Not to mention that over the past years, fascists have been slowly taking more and more language for people with schizo and dissociative disorders into their hate-speak/signals to other fascists. (And intellectual disability, but I don’t have one so I don’t think I want to talk on that rn)

Instead of seeing anyone say, “that’s fucked up, and you’re cowards for this”. Wanna know what I’ve seen besides no one noting it? “Watch out for anyone who uses these words!”.

Those words are necessary for psychotic and dissociative people to speak on our experiences, created for us to use, created to speak of us, and those words came from our marginalized lives. And you’re spreading the word that they belong to people who want me dead and have a history of violence to people like me, of eugenics, of fucking homicide, for the literal reason of being mad?

How fucking dare y’all? Both the fascists and the leftist hypocrites. Honestly. “Watch out for [language used by mentally ill group at extremely high risk of violence who still don’t have equal rights] in case they’re a fascist!”. You think that’s ever appropriate to say about people on the schizophrenia and psychotic spectrum disorder, with common persecution paranoia, and to people with DID— which I don’t think I should have to explain why that’s wrong when it’s a group of people who were hurt so badly that they lost their identities and memories?

Are you’re seriously throwing us under the bus and forgetting that the second listed people on the Genocides that have happened in history(and probably ongoing ones too) reads “[ethnicity depending on region], disabled people,…”? Or how the USA psychiatric system was built around eugenics of us, similar to many other countries? That lobotomies didn’t start to end in the USA until the 1960s? That the reason they stopped was financial cost of overcrowded hospitals and being given an antipsychotic that could do the same to us chemically without the procedure?

It wasn’t out of compassion and remorse for their abuse towards us, and I’m not sure if people are overlooking that common sense fact blaring at you when you know how cruel the system is still to this day. & no one saved us.

Both of these groups are already watched by fascists, fyi. Both of these groups are already at a higher risk than average to experience abuse, fyi. Both of these groups face constant social pressure, alienation, disconnection, mockery, and being the punchline of jokes whilst the shock-horror in movies, fyi. The last thing both of these groups needs is people to once again use them as pawns for their gain or more false accusations and misinformation, for your fucking information.

You’re focusing on the dog whistles that are using vulnerable populations to spread hatred as the problem while trying to hide themselves from consequences, but there’s no thought that Nazis are fucking us over and further demonizing us? You’re doing their job for them by pushing the idea that insanity = threat. You’re further harming a group who has no solid protections.

And hilariousssss how an alt right assholes on the net can use our language obnoxiously and incorrectly without anyone batting an eye, but if someone liberal with wild hair and makeup is using that language and says that they have the disorder, your first thought is judgement about them lying or being an attention seeker, you screenshot and make a joke about the person, showing them to thousands as a joke.

Fuck you. I have every right to be paranoid and bite at this point. Fuck you.

#…#autistic/adhd people share experiences but you aren’t us. and something else that’s pissing me off #the few times I’ve seen someone note this: they never once mentioned us but specified audhd and ND. even bipolar. no mention of Schizo/DID.#thanks for the solidarity there.🥰☠️ totally had our backs as ‘cousin disorders’ right #like it’s just disappointing and alienating and like ok I’m padanoaid but seems like rlly no one is proving me wrong #love my spelling of paranoid so not changing it #if you’re using people with ID for bad faith purposes. you can grovel and I would stomp on your head before forgiving you #bc the Nazis love to do that too! r slur is so important to them. fucking pigs.

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pikminpediaart · 1 year

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Hop To It! : Year of the Rabbit

The horizon darkened in the city. Civilians started to turn on the lights in their windows, dotting the city with a plethora of twinkling lights. Xenon sat on top of the building, examining everything below. He was looking for the signs of… something. He didn’t know what yet, but he figured it would happen tonight. “If only there were more clues,” he muttered, lifting a hand to his muzzle. He gently stroked the whiskers on his lip, feeling their tingling sensation with each wave of his finger. “I don’t think I could stand this for more than a month.” “Really? I kinda like it,” a familiar voice whispered. Startled, Xenon turned to face the newcomer. In the window of the nearby building, he saw a rather tall, portly figure standing in the darkness. Once it noticed he was staring, it kicked off the window sill, landing on the rooftop with a large thud. “Makes the fat man more mobile?” Xenon asked, trying to display a hint of teasing in his voice. “Hardy har har.” The character retorted, rolling their eyes in disdain. “What’s it like actually having a mouth? Biting off more than you can chew? Which is honestly just… fruits.” “Sassy today, aren’t you, Sarge?” Xenon grimaced, looking up at the portly rabbit that used to be a werewolf. “Only as sassy as you’re being,” Sarge said, sticking out his tongue. “Saw you were up here… thought I’d come say hi.” “Company is always appreciated. Stake outs can be… awfully dull.” Xenon put a hand to his chin. He felt short strands of fur brush against his cheek, making him recoil. “But no, I don’t have a mouth still. Seems this mystery poison only changes certain physical characteristics. Selective, if you will.” “Meaning someone wanted to turn people… into rabbits?” Sarge asked, lifting up his hands. “Okay, well, why do I now only have four fingers instead of five and you still have three?” “Can’t give me what I didn’t have to begin with, I suppose?” Xenon lifted his hand, examining it. It was odd to him to see his fingers were mostly the same while Sarge’s lacked one digit and were stubbier to boot. “What poisoned you?” “Salad. I’d be damned if I let a good salad go to waste,” Sarge snickered. “Wait, you actually knew what poisoned you?” Xenon looked over at Sarge, incredulous toward the werewolf’s words. “Speculation, really. Salad tasted off, even as far as a potentially bad salad goes. Last I checked, a ranch dressing doesn’t taste like cherries. Color was off but… I assumed it was one of those weird pink dressings I’ve been seeing around.” “Emulsified dragon fruit, right?” Xenon asked. “Think so.” Sarge shrugged. “But that’s beside the point. How did you get poisoned?” “Injection. Not as tasty as your assailant’s method, but effective I suppose. Got me in the back while I was walking to the office.” Xenon lifted a hand to rub his back where the injection happened. After the assault, the rest of what happened was a blur, as he was in too much pain to recall much information. He never realized that antennae turning into ears could be so terribly uncomfortable. “Explains why you were out of commission for a week. Only thought to come here cuz this is your usual stake out point.” Sarge sat down next to Xenon and placed a hand on his back. “How long you been here?” “Hours. Since the sun went down. Assailant hit me at the stroke of midnight, so they must go under the cover of night,” Xenon nodded. “And their attack frequency has been every single night for the past two weeks. If you counted mine and yours, that would be the Monday and Wednesday of last week.” Sarge lifted a hand and stared at it. “I was the first. But why? Why did they target me?” Xenon wanted to question this more, but he was running into a dead end. He’d run into multiple of those with this case. “It’s too exactly on my schedule for it to be a mere coincidence.” “Probably trying to get you out of the way… or from my experience, just wanting to experiment on you.” Sarge’s voice grew somber as he peaked over the edge of the building. “’bout the eighth time I’ve been forcibly T.F.ed into something.” “T.F.ed?” Xenon asked. “Transformed. Werewolf, mutated werewolf, mutated androgynous werewolf, mutated idiot werewolf, mutated idiot werewolf with a penchant for eating anything in sight…. The list could continue.” “There’s three more to go. Seems finite.” Xenon said, taking his eyes off the street to look at Sarge. “What of your jacket, though?” “Jacket?” Sarge asked. “Isn’t that a special device of sorts that cloaks you as… what was its name? Chunky? Chornbee?” “Chomby?” Sarge asked. “I mean, I guess? It really is a transformation, though I don’t mind. Been getting used to it.” “It has a time limit, right?” Xenon asked. “Yeah. Two hours. If I don’t unzip the hoodie by that time, I’m stuck like that forever.” Sarge looked over at Xenon and smiled. “Of course, I know what you’re going to say. No, I don’t think it’s too risky to use. If I get stuck as Chomby, then I’m stuck as Chomby. It’s not like I hate being a big, round, huggable… doohickey thingy with a penchant for music. It’s a lot of fun. Makes dances livelier!” “Much more exhilarating than a rabbit, I’d reckon?” Xenon asked. “Rabbits and Wolves are mammalian, so there’s not much difference.” “Field of vision, I guess? Eyes are more aimed toward the side of my head now… but I’ll manage. Got used to it after a few days,” Sarge shrugged again. “Thematically, it fits, though!” “Why’s that?” Xenon asked, turning his attention back to the road below as he saw someone walking under a streetlight with a bag of groceries. “Well, werewolves don’t eat salad… conventionally, anyway. I do. Now I’m a rabbit. Eating salad seems to be a given.” Sarge huffed, bending his leg so he could rest an arm on his knee. “I thought you were going to say Year of the Rabbit, actually,” Xenon admitted. “I don’t think you should be confined to only eat one thing if you have the ability to eat what you want.” “Tell that to everyone else,” Sarge said with a dissatisfied smirk. “I was an oddity to them on all fronts. Werewolves aren’t fat, werewolves aren’t vegetarian, werewolves don’t wear clothes, werewolves don’t enjoy being surrounded by people… werewolves aren’t biologically hermaphrodites through a bunch of weird mutations.” “I get the vegetarian thing for rabbits, but the rest seems to be unrelated.” Xenon lifted a hand to scratch his ear. “Ever tell those guys to mind their own business?” “Nah. I let them have their fun. Worst they do is poke my belly… and give me belly rubs… and ask me when I’m due,” Sarge shook his head. “Well, since we’ve been turned into rabbits during the year of the rabbit, do you think we’ll have good luck?” “Sounds a bit silly. Almost like Zodiac signs. What was yours before now?” “Was and still is a dog,” Sarge said. “Oh… that’s coincidental.” Xenon looked away. “Very,” Sarge agreed, looking in a separate direction. “So, what does this guy look like?” “The subject change lets me know I may have upset you,” Xenon looked back at Sarge. “You know I am honored to know you, right? Aside from Tony, you’re the only person who’s not afraid of me.” “Hard to be afraid of a guy like you,” Sarge said, still looking away. “You look like a giant grasshopper or something, but you have the personality of a cinnamon roll and smell like lavender.” “And you are someone who has a keen sense of observation and has a level head in rough situations,” Xenon said. “You also have the personality of a cinnamon roll made by a cinnamon roll… and whether werewolf or rabbit, you look like a big, soft, squishy cinnamon roll anyway.” Sarge put a hand to his mouth to prevent himself from laughing. “Do people actually say that about me?” “More often than you’d think. Of the two of us, you’re the one who brings people in with your charisma. Everyone talks about you… just wish more would think better of me…” Xenon sighed, watching another person walk by in the dark. “Does it matter what they think? You get the job done no matter what. People come to you because you’ve got skill and reputation. That should be admirable, right?” Sarge asked. “Besides, with the serial rabbit-transformations happening, you don’t have to cloak yourself anymore. Maybe try being yourself more? Now’s as good a time as any to try.” “Do you really think they’d like me?” Xenon asked. “Why wouldn’t they like you?” Sarge asked, looking down at the street again. “I like you.” “You like everyone Sar-” Xenon started. “HEY! I think we found our perpetrator!” Sarge hissed. “What?” Xenon asked, looking around the streets. Sure enough, he could see a figure slinking down the street… toward the woman carrying groceries. “I’ll see you down there, Xenon,” Sarge said, immediately bounding off the rooftop onto the wall of the adjacent building. “I’ll keep an eye out until you get to him, then I’ll be down,” Xenon nodded. Sarge smiled. Lifting a hand, he gave Xenon a salute before letting go of the wall and falling. Xenon heard a thud, followed by another thud, then another. In a few moments, he saw Sarge bounding down the street toward the woman and the assailant while zipping up his hoodie. As he saw Sarge grab the hood of his jacket, he noticed Sarge’s shape began to widen and expand. Sarge then pulled the hoodie over his snout as his body continued to shape into a strange, green and black creature. The creature put its hands to its ears, pulled them back… and dashed forward at blinding speed, covering the ground between the creature and the assailant within mere seconds. Xenon took a deep breath as he stood up. “Thanks, Sarge.” Taking a step toward the edge of the building, Xenon looked at the street below. Seeing that there was no one underneath him, he jumped off the building and fell the ten stories to the ground below. Landing on his feet, he felt his backbone absorb the impact of the fall – a perk he was thankful he kept before being turned into a rabbit. Once he could stand up straight, he started to run in the direction the creature and assailant had gone, ready to crack the case of the Year of the Rabbit. ~~~~~ Seems I wanted to draw something to celebrate year of the rabbit? As such, have Sarge and Xenon as rabbits! :D ~~~~~ Artwork/Story/Xenon/Sarge (C) Me

#rabbit #year #alien #detective #werewolf #transformation #bunny #anthro

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fantasmalforces · 2 years

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@maximuses SAID: Kim was easy to read if you had a trained eye. Stress seeped onto her features slowly, twisting her expression and leaving her restless as she waited in the parking garage. Slender fingers lit another cigarette, trembling as they brought the stick to painted lips so a rush of nicotine could ground the lawyer to the moment. Every fleeting set of footsteps caused hairs to stand. Every passerby made her skin crawl.

And then there was Rayn, stalking along as her workday ended.

She strode with a regal confidence. Each step was sure as her gaze scanned over her surroundings. That's when she saw Kim, fidgeting with everything within her reach and leaping out of her skin when she saw Rayn suddenly beside her. How long was she standing there? A few moments now. Had she said something? No, her lips were pursed. Where was her cigarette? Smoldering on the ground as the last of its glow faded. A burning warmth stung at Kim's eyes and she shook her head, taking a breath before grasping at Rayn's arm and begging her to hear her out.

And then everything spilled.

Truths that Kim swore she would never speak with anyone else poured from her mouth as quickly as the tears fell from her eyes. She had done many bad things. Helped many bad people. The worst of them all, and the one who hung over her shoulders, was Lalo Salamanca. One of a few head players in the Salamanca Cartel. Kim had married Jimmy solely to defend them if these truths ever saw the light of day, and those brief moments where the love felt real were now gone after the confrontation in their apartment. Kim feared for her life. Feared for Jimmy's. And she couldn't trust anybody but Rayn. There was a mutual understanding between them. Shared experiences that led them down the same path.

That's why, as Kim finally gained composure and fanned at running makeup, she mumbled an apology and stepped back.

"I... This is a lot, I know. I shouldn't have told you like this. I just..." Her gaze fell briefly before meeting Rayn's own. "I need you to know. In case anything happens with... everything."

It was a bit odd for them to be meeting out in broad daylight like this. Not that Rayn cared. It was just unusual for them to meet anywhere that wasn’t her agency or Kim’s office, the latter of which had become a rarity to visit in the last few weeks, as Kim had been fostering a rather intense paranoia of… something or another. And she wasn’t as subtle about it as she might have thought. Rayn had certainly picked up on it at least. She was no stranger to the behaviors of the hunted; the constant looking-over-a-shoulder, leg-shaking, nail-biting, waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop type of manic fear that left them unable to settle no matter how hard they tried. She hasn’t even managed to get settled against the wall beside her or say anything before Kim was grabbing on her arm with a desperate fervor.

What came next might as well have been an avalanche. On the outside, Rayn remained calm and neutral. But on the inside, she knew if she’d been smoking a cigarette it would have fallen from her lips in shock. Shit, that was a lot to process, and it was no easier to understand with Kim sputtering it out between half-sobs. She placed her hand over the woman’s doing her best to try and soothe her. Calloused fingers smoothed over her knuckles and the back of her hand, tenderly stroking over the skin as Rayn hushed her. The warmth of her fingers retreated briefly to find a handkerchief from one of the pockets of her coat. The deep blue fabric was lifted up to Kim’s face, gently dabbing away her tears and smeared makeup as the wolf softly cooed at her to settle.

When Kim stepped back, she let her go. But Rayn still placed the fabric in her hand to keep and use as she needed. “It’s a lot to process I’ll admit. I knew something was going on, but… damn, I didn’t think it was gonna be that much.” She paused for a moment before putting an arm around Kim’s shoulders. “It’s gonna be fine though. Look, come back to the agency with me. Let’s get you something to eat, something to drink, and then you can slow down and explain to me everything that happened exactly. I can tell you’re scared right now. Let’s get you somewhere you’ll be safe and we’ll figure this out. Okay?”

In situations like this, Rayn had been trained that they needed to develop a concise plan and navigate it one step at a time. Kim was almost at panic-attack levels of anxiety. If she could just bring her down enough to prevent that, then she could get the answers she needed to protect her- it was no question to her that the other woman was in danger. She knew the name Salamanca well, and she knew they’d cause her problems the second they found out their secret was out. Them and anyone else connected to them. Luckily, the cartel didn’t want much beef with her agency. Not when they knew a ‘dangerous carnivore’ was running it at least. They were smart enough that when it came to Rayn, she was just as willing to step outside of the law as they were- and she’d be just as morally and ethically grey about it too.

“We’ll figure this out, okay? You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get you back to the agency. It’s gonna be okay, Kim. It’s gonna be alright.”

#// I am very 👀#{ we will rock you : mutual }#maximuses #{ the vigilante beastwalker : rayn }#{ v : tbd }#ask : is this what you wanted

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mt-musings · 10 days

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To Inherit the Night - 8

Erwin waited a solid five minutes before crossing to the door to ensure Lorenz was not waiting outside to eavesdrop. Once satisfied he returned, eyeing Cecily with a new sense of wariness. He’d never much noted her appearance—she would arrive consistently filthy and bruised, much too underweight to be considered pretty, even if it hadn’t been for the thick scars that overwhelmed the right side of her face.

Perhaps the shock of white that was her hair should have raised his suspicions. Or her barely concealed hatred of the Empire, even though Lorenz had mentioned her complete distaste of the nobility as a governing system.

“They’re working with them. The mages that killed those children. There’s been other experiments, mostly in Hyrm, but in some of the more rebellious villages on the edge of the Dukedom as well. They no longer seem interested in having survivors.”

Cecily still hadn’t looked up, though she’d stopped her careful arrangement of the war table.

“How old were you?”

She took a shuddering breath, knuckles white as she clutched the edge of the table. “Eight. Until I was nearly eleven. They were trying to build on what they’d learned in Ordelia. There were others there, I could hear them, but they never lasted long. They’re becoming more brazen, now that they’re under Adrestia’s banner. They’re stockpiling strange weapons, mobilizing small squadrons, but I haven’t been able to figure out the plan. If they invade the Alliance, our only chance is to overwhelm them with sheer numbers. We don’t have the weaponry, not even with half a dozen Hero’s Relics.”

She looked up at him then, mismatched eyes wide—frightened. He’d never known the girl to be frightened, not when appearing half-dead on his doorstep, not when fighting off ruffians along the edge of his territory.

“Is Claude aware?”

She shook her head. “No. Not of the troop movements or my…connection. I came straight here. They set up in border regions first, so I wanted to ensure you could prepare.”

“This is what you’ve been doing, when you disappear for weeks? Why you’ve been suffering more and more injuries? Because you’ve been infiltrating them?”

She shook her head. “Infiltration is easy. I’ve been hunting down outposts, thinning the numbers. Though there is information I’m seeking I have yet to find.”

“Alone?”

She didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“I should bring this to the Roundtable.”

“If you do, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“So no one can try and stop you?”

She gave him a crooked smile, her eyes heavy with fathomless pain. “You were always quick, Count Gloucester.”

He stared at her, at the broken slip of a girl that stood behind his war table, defiantly smiling, even in the face of all the horror forced upon her. A kind, clever girl turned biting and brutal in the hands of a vicious and uncaring world.

~~~

Yuri hadn’t been to Enbarr in the four years since the war.

It was strange how everything remained the same, from the canals to the open air markets to the tenement buildings he and Cecily had squatted in what felt like a lifetime ago. He’d taught her to read in Enbarr, nursed her back from the horrible skeletal thing he’d found in the tunnels of Rowe back to a little girl.

She’d learned other things as well, despite his trying to prevent it. She’d learned to fight and steal and sneak about, how to be a good little bird and ferret out what he needed. It helped a great deal that she had experience as a servant in a noble house, that she was able to pass unnoticed.

He passed one of the stalls where he used to buy the fabric dye they’d used on her hair to make it the same color as his, smiling to himself at the memory. They’d done it in case the mages sent people with her description, her shock of white hair memorable and immediately noticeable. It also helped them to pass better as siblings, especially since her violet eye resembled his lavender ones.

Once, she had followed him to the opera. He’d made it very clear that she was to avoid the whole area, though he hadn’t told her why. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten past the ticket collector or the ushers in the faded tunic she wore, her hair still pulled back in the braids he’d done before he left. She’d pushed into the box he’d been sharing with several particularly vile, particularly well-connected nobles and made a bee-line straight for him.

He hadn’t realized before then just how much she’d picked up from watching him.

“Brother, I’m sorry, I know you told me to stay home and do my schoolwork, but the man in the flat next door got really drunk again and started beating down the door and I was so scared and he wouldn’t go away and—and—“ she grabbed his hands at that and he could feel the slip of paper she’d pressed into his palm, even as her lip trembled and her eyes welled up with tears, “I crawled out the window. I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. I’m sorry—I’m sorry—“

She’d managed to make just enough of a scene to allow him to hastily check the note in his hand and find a single word scratched almost illegibly onto the paper: bad.

She clung to his arm as the nobles in the box fussed after her and she spun some tale about how their mother had died when she was five and how he’d taken such good care of her, how he’d gotten her into lessons even though they didn’t have very much money at all, how he all he wanted her to do was to study and didn’t make her work in the lace mill like all the other kids in their tenement building had to.

“And what is it that you are studying, child?” One of the particularly unsavory nobles asked, leering at her from beneath a curtain of thick black hair. Yuri had been sure that would be the unraveling of the whole story, hadn’t even known she’d been able to scratch out the singular word on the piece of parchment he’d already stowed in his sleeve.

He’d only started teaching her her letters a few weeks ago, after all.

He’d already opened his mouth to concoct some story he hoped would be enough to fool them when she lifted her hand and murmured something unintelligible. A rippling illusion appeared in her hand, a tiny songbird that almost appeared to be made of shimmering midnight water. He did his best not to look surprised, as if this was a common occurrence.

“How marvelous. That is quite the talent for someone so young,” he’d replied, seemingly satisfied, though Yuri didn’t trust the way his pale eyes lingered over her.

He’d tried to usher the pair of them out, to deal with whatever was ‘bad’ enough to send Cecily running to find him while he worked his marks. Unfortunately his patrons had insisted they both stay for the show, that his poor little sister deserved such a treat after such an awful fright. He spent the entirety of the opera on alert, making sure that she suffered none of the wandering hands he endured, even as Cecily became enraptured by the show, her anxiety and urgency melting away as she watched the divas below sing.

When they finally were able to duck away, gold in hand ‘to stay at a proper inn until their neighbors could be dealt with,’ she informed him that one of their safe houses had been raided by guards, but she’d managed to stuff everything of real value into a burlap sack that she’d hidden under the lip of the canal by the market.

He just nodded, his stolen stash of B-grade magical trinkets the least of his concern. “I didn’t know you could write.”

“I’ve been practicing, when you go out.”

“What about that illusion?”

“I don’t—I just, wanted it to happen. I don’t know. I thought it would be enough to convince them but not, you know—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Goddess damnit all, this isn’t good.”

“Do you think the other safe houses will be next?”

“I—no, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want you getting mixed up with nobles, I don’t want—“ he broke off, looking away.

“Don’t you just tell them lies and they give you money?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, instead pulling her into a hug and pressing his face to the crown of her head.

“Yeah. But they’re dangerous. You know that,” he said, watching as she dropped her gaze, face turning stormy.

She knew better than most just how dangerous nobles could be.

After that it had been nearly impossible to keep her out of his work, even though he tried. She begged to help and he let her because she was goodat it.

A decision he still regretted.

He wound through the maze of the market towards the edge of the theatre district and the slums, making for the familiar tavern. Shae had operated it well before Yuri and Cecily had ever fled to Enbarr, a titan of the underworld before he’d even been born. He wasn’t even quite sure how old she was—she had one of those faces that didn’t age, not in the conventional sense. She was dangerous—far more dangerous than it was worth to seek her out, for most things.

But this wasn’t most things.

Yuri knew there were things Cecily hid from him, even now. He also knew there was a whole host of things about herself that even she didn’t understand. And he’d seen, over the past four years of the war, the toll her power had begun to take, a toll he knew she didn’t see, or at least didn’t acknowledge as a problem.

It wasn’t a Crest. That much he knew for sure. And left unchecked he was scared it would consume her.

So when Shae said she had information on the sort of power Cecily wielded, he’d had to go.

~~~

Hubert raised an eyebrow, delighted by his own luck as he spotted a man with familiar lavender hair winding his way through the market. It was longer than last he’d seen it, but unmistakable. He abandoned his place in line in favor of trailing him, ducking slightly to disguise his height. Yuri moved with the confidence of someone intimately familiar with the city, something that struck him as odd.

Still, Hubert knew the city better than anyone, knew every alley, every canal, every bridge. It wouldn’t be hard to pin him, especially since he’d turned towards the slums.

If he couldn’t track Cecily down, he certainly could get her to come to him.

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #lorenz hellman gloucester #yuri leclerc #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #fire emblem three houses x reader

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rachelstrohm · 11 months

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How To Interview A Divorce Attorney

If you have ever needed a lawyer, you know how important it is to get the right lawyer. The right lawyer can be a great counselor, an effective partner and a good warrior for your cause. However, the bad lawyer could lead to your ruin. That is why you need to think carefully when finding and dealing with lawyers. Let this article help you. Here are some great tips.

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meetpeople102 · 2 years

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The Reasons You Should Date Online Through Online Dating Sites

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vaspider · 3 years

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'only tenet of TERFism is transmisogyny' EXCUSE ME NO ITS ALL TRANS PEOPLE. They don't want any trans person to exist. What the hell.

Some people just gotta center their own suffering always, even when they're hurting other people by doing so. I've seen this a lot in younger queer folx of all stripes, this need to be the one that hurts the most, you know?

There's a reason the phrase Oppression Olympics exists, and it's because it's a common behavior or phenomenon in oppressed communities. I see it in the disability community, too.

What I think is important to understand when we talk about how trans people suffer under transphobia is that different groups are targeted differently. I'm not the first person to say this, of course.

Now, like, this is very rough sketchy stuff, and each person's individual experiences will vary, but in my general experience, the rough breakdown of the way in which transphobia lands on trans people kind of breaks down like this:

Binary trans women tend to suffer under a lens of hypervisibility. Everything they do is seen, analyzed, and torn apart. Their struggles are generally the ones centered in the arguments of allies, "allies," and transphobes. Even when trans women are the focus of helpful attention, that hypervisibility can cause exhaustion, because they need to perform perform perform, and be perfect, all the time. It's hard for trans women to just be without feeling like they're on camera, all the time. A lot of the time, they are on camera, because trans women's bodily autonomy and right to privacy are just never respected by transphobes (and often by supposed "allies" who feel free to ask the most invasive questions and get upset when trans women won't answer them), and even if they're not literally on camera, they're supposed to perform as the best examples of transfemininity, because if they don't, then they become the next 'look at this bad trans, all trans are this bad trans' example that TERFs point at and use as a broad brush to paint all trans women. If they're not perfect all the time and have a day where they snap at someone while someone is recording, or make a mistake, or anything, it has a horrible tendency to go viral. You can think of at least three instances right now off the top of your head, right? Right.

Binary trans men tend to suffer from hyperinvisibility. This comes from inside and outside the community -- a lot of trans men talk about being told they can't lead in community because they've 'got male privilege,' that their struggles are discarded, that they're talked over and unable to discuss the things they face, which means they don't get the support they need. Now, there are TERFs and transphobes who absolutely do focus their attention on trans men to the exclusion of or to the deprioritization of the oppression of trans women -- that's where we get Tavistock and Irreversible Damage and Fourth Wave Now and all the other bullshit which focuses on the idea that trans men are "transing the gay away," specifically "transing our butch lesbians" and "stealing butches." But again, generally speaking, trans men face harmful levels of invisibility where trans women face harmful levels of visibility. That's why transmascs in general have issues like lack of understanding even by supposedly trans-competent doctors as to how HRT affects our bodies, why trans men (and transmascs in general) report things like transphobes attacking them with transmisogynistic comments and assuming that every trans person online is a trans woman, etc.

Non-binary (here used as an umbrella term for all identities outside of binary man/woman, to include agender, genderfluid, non-binary, and infinite other identities) AFAB people tend to suffer from a different, very specific form of hypervisibility, unless they start to appear too masculine, and then they slip into hyperinvisibility. This is where we get things like "women and non-binary people" that codes all non-binary people as "AFAB people I can sort of squint and view as women," and people who fall into this category tend to get a lot of attention, a lot of derision from all sides of the spectrum. This is the "blue-haired tenderqueer" sneering that we get from both within and without the queer community, where there's an assumption that these people are just cosplaying an identity, that they're not really trans, etc. Having been in the visibility category and slipped into the invisibility category within the last, oh, year or so, and having two binary trans women in my family to compare notes with, the experiences are unnervingly similar. The difference between the experience that those women have had and the experience that I have had is that according to transphobes, I'm a traitor to my womanhood and performing femininity wrong and taking on a fake identity to escape female oppression because I'm not strong enough to bear up under it, but too cowardly to become a trans man, or... something, whereas they're taking on a fake identity to sneak into women's spaces because they're perverts.

Non-binary (umbrella identity etc) AMAB people tend to suffer from their own very specific form of hyperinvisibility, unless they start to present "too feminine", and then they slip into the hypervisibility which affects binary trans women, but with a little different fuckery in which everyone just assumes they're a trans woman, and therefore they get misgendered by everyone across the spectrum of queer/non-queer/etc. Non-binary AMAB people are generally treated like they don't exist, and when they are spoken about, are often discussed in the context of 'they should just admit they're trans women or gay men,' or if they present 'too feminine,' are subjected to the same sort of horrific attention that trans women get.

Again, a lot of this is very simplistic, and doesn't add in a lot of other complicating factors like race, disability, class, etc. Trans men of color, for example, can run into a different sort of hypervisibility because as they move further through their transition, they begin to be seen in the world as a man of color. It's not really mine to speak on beyond that, but I don't want to neglect saying 'this is really really simplistic and there's more to it than that' over and over.

I really hate breaking it down this simply because it feels like creating another binary (our society does like a binary!) for non-binary people, but like, I can't really talk about my shared experiences with other trans people without putting some framework around it. Someday, I'll be able to do that without categories. Wouldn't that be awesome?

I think we do our entire community a huge disservice when we talk about transphobia as if it's a single snake trying to take bites out of only one part of the community, and not a many-headed hydra, able to attack us from multiple different directions. I also think that focusing on one form of oppression keeps us from forming meaningful solidary and coalitions; the more divided we are, the easier it is for the people who literally want us all to stop existing to pick us off one by one. We see this all across the queer community and it's only ramping up as the attacks on our community escalate from without; people tend to turn on the ones closest to them when they get really scared, and to blame the person standing next to them for the pain they're suffering. It's the "close enough to hit" phenomenon, and it's why we see ridiculous things like "bi women make cis men think that lesbians can be won over," rather than acknowledging that bi women aren't the ones causing that: cis men are the ones causing that. The bi women in that case are close enough to hit. Transmascs are close enough to hit. Trans women are close enough to blame for the problems of transmascs, which makes it possible for TERFs to lure transmascs in and attempt to detransition them, subjecting them to gaslighting and manipulation and then using them as sock puppets.

TERFs do focus a lot on transmisogyny. They focus a lot on transmisandry, too. Debating which one is more prevalent and 'worse' not only misses the point, because transmascs and transfems face very different and totally rotten attention from cis society as a whole, including cis queers. We need to like, not do that anymore: we need to give each other the space to talk about our unique circumstances, but we also need to work harder on looking at each other through a lens of solidarity and trying to see that our struggles are different but not unrelated, and that if we keep downing on each other like this, we're not going to get anywhere except in a much more difficult situation as the people who don't want any of us to exist keep picking us off.

#transmisogyny #transphobia #transmisandry #queer issues #trans issues #long post

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natsfirecat · 3 years

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Natasha Romanoff X Fem!Reader. R has fire powers linked to her emotions. The Avengers try to guess who her crush is and when Natasha’s name is mentioned R’s powers play up 🔥🔥. So her friends make it their mission to get the two together. Fluff please and thank you 😊

yes i LOVE writing pyrokinetic reader

Operation Fire Widow

word count: 2.5k

warnings: some swearing, Supergirl references, accidental burning

A/N: anon i’m so sorry this so long. i got shadowbanned and my dumbass didn’t know I could get my account back until recently so- but anyway i hope you enjoy! :D

"Sam?"

"No,"

"Bucky?"

"Also no,"

"Me?"

"Just when I thought your ego couldn't get any bigger, no,"

"Ugh, fine. Is it Steve?"

"Dumbasses,"

Sighing, Carol and Wanda looked at each other in defeat; they were not going to crack you tonight.

"Alright, new subject then," Peter interjected, taking a sip of his root beer. Despite his age, you found that he fit in well with you Wanda, and Carol. The four of you made quite an interesting friend group.

"I overheard Mr. Stark talking about how Mr. Fury made Natasha train a bunch of new SHIELD agents and she made a lot of them cry,"

You gripped the pillow tighter, picturing her losing it and yelling. The thought started to make smoke come out of your hands, hence why you were gripping the pillow tighter in an attempt to hide it.

Unfortunately, your attempt was unsuccessful.

"Y/N what the hell are you doing?" Carol asked, noticing the smoke rising.

You let go of the pillow, then balled your fists to try to stop the smoke.

"What's going on?" Wanda asked softly. When you first joined the Avengers, she was the one who helped you learn all about your powers and how to control them. She knew you lost control sometimes, so she placed a gentle hand on your back, which nearly burned her.

"Wait a minute," Carol said, connecting the dots. "It's Nat, isn't it?"

"No!" You lied, feeling the smoke starting to rise from your palms again.

"It is!" Peter said with a grin.

You sighed, hiding your face in the scorched pillow.

"Don't be shy, Y/N," Carol said, smiling at you. "It's sweet,"

"It's pathetic, and never gonna happen!" You protested, not peeking out from the pillow.

"I beg to differ," Peter stated proudly.

"Me too," Wanda said.

"This is gonna be a thing now, isn't it?" You said with a groan.

Peter thought for a minute, thinking about your superhero name and Natasha's.

"Operation Fire Widow," he said.

Wanda and Carol nodded in agreement.

Yep, this was definitely going to be a thing now.

The next morning, you woke up to a loud knock at your bedroom door.

"What is it?" You groaned, rolling over.

"Us!" Wanda yelled back.

You let out a deep breath, there was no getting out of this one.

"Come in!"

The door opened, and Wanda, Carol, and Peter all walked in and sat on your bed. Peter was holding a piece of paper with a bullet list on it.

"What is this?" You asked, rolling your eyes at them.

"Operation Fire Widow!" Peter replied with a bright smile.

"Oh what the hell?" You said, giving in. "Tell me about the operation,"

The three of them surrounded you, holding the piece of paper up.

"We've created a three-arc plan," Carol started. "Part one starts today; we're gonna get you and Nat in the living room at the same time, alone. Then we're gonna take away all the blankets, and turn the air on really high so it gets freezing. Because of your powers, you'll be fine and be really warm, so then she'll want to cuddle you to warm up,"

"Oh come on, you guys aren't gonna actually freeze the room, right?" You replied, slightly concerned.

All three of them looked dead serious.

You let out a long sigh,

“Look, you’re not gonna actually do something like that. I’m open to some things you guys could plan, but this is taking it too far,”

Carol rolled her eyes, then snatched the paper back.

“I’m going downstairs now,” you told them.

“Good, ‘cause Natasha’s down there!” Wanda called as you exited your room, earning an eye roll in response.

She was right, Natasha was sitting at the table eating breakfast.

“Hi,” you told her. She waved in response, giving a small smile.

Unfortunately, she stood up as soon as you sat down.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“I need to reheat this,” she replied, holding her plate up.

“Wait!” You said, stopping her. “I could do it! It’ll be faster!”

You immediately regretted it as soon as you said it. She raised an eyebrow at you, then shrugged. She handed you the plate without another word.

Taking in a deep breath, you knew you couldn’t mess this up. You closed your eyes, then slowly began to heat up the plate.

Once you finished, you handed it back to her and smiled triumphantly.

She hesitantly grabbed her fork and took a bite out of it, then looked at you with a shocked expression.

“It’s a little warmer than I was expecting, but it’s better than how it was before. Thanks,”

You smiled at her for a few awkward second before backing away.

You ended up backing into the counter, your hands smoking as a jump response.

“Shit!” You cursed, closing your fists whilst trying to ignore the growing pain in your lower back.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked, standing up immediately.

You gave her a thumbs up, forcing a smile.

“I’m good, I, gotta go, I-”

With that, you ran out of the kitchen before spending the next few days trying to forget the incident.

“Alright, you’ve done enough sulking,” Carol said as she barged into your room without even bothering to knock. “It’s time to talk to her again,”

“What? More operation Fire Widow?” You asked in a mocking tone.

Carol rolled her eyes.

“You guys are just like Kara and Lena, you’ll either be the greatest couple of all time or the worst queerbait ever. In your case, it would be because you’re too afraid to admit your feelings to her,”

You sighed. Of course your best friend would use one of your favorite ships to pressure you.

“Talk to her at Tony’s party tonight, okay?”

“Fine,”

“Good. Wanda and Peter have already agreed to help you get ready,”

You couldn’t help but smile at all their efforts to help you with the woman you were hopelessly crushing on.

Carol returned your smile, then exited your room.

A few hours later, as promised, Wanda and Peter (who was surprisingly good at doing makeup) arrived.

Wanda had come over with a few different outfits for you to try on, while Peter already sat behind you and started doing your hair.

Whilst he was experimenting with a bunch of different styles, Wanda held two outfits up, then held one over your chest.

It was a sparkly purple dress. She pulled it away and held the other in it’s place.

This one was a dark red suit. Wanda’s eyebrows raised, then she set it down before holding one last outfit up.

“That one,” you said. It was darker with some sparkles on it, just enough to make your eyes shine.

After putting the outfit on, Peter added the final touches to your hair.

He then turned you around to face him, carefully putting some makeup on your face. He sat up a little straighter, leaning in to make sure he got it right.

“Perfect,” he said after a few minutes.

Wanda gently grabbed your wrist as you stood up, leading you to the bathroom so you could look at yourself in the mirror.

“Is that one of the steps in your little operation?” You asked Peter with a smile.

“Maybe,”

“You look beautiful,” Wanda told you, grinning widely.

“Thanks,” you replied, returning her grin.

Just as you were about to say something else to them, your bedroom door opened once again as Carol walked in.

“Wow, Y/N...” she said, looking you up and down. She smirked at both Wanda and Peter, then back to you. “Go get your girl.”

The music was loud, there were people surrounding every side of you. It was honestly overwhelming if you were being honest.

You eyes scanned the room, looking for Natasha, but you couldn’t make anything out in the crowd of people.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making your way through all the people.

Being in the middle of the crowd was doing you no good for finding Natasha, and you hated being surrounded by people like that anyway.

So you walked away from the dance floor, and made your way to the drinks.

You couldn’t help but sigh as you took the drink. Your friends had gone through all this effort for you, and you hadn’t seen her at all.

As you held the glass in your hand, the liquid inside began to bubble. You frowned, realizing that you were involuntarily using your powers.

You took a deep breath, then closed your eyes.

In 1...2...3...4...

Hold 1...2...3...4...

Out 1...2...3...4...

Hold 1...2...3...4...

You repeated this pattern a few times until you could feel yourself calming down.

You opened your eyes, and sure enough, your drink had stopped boiling.

You began to head for the hallway when the familiar red hair swept into your vision.

“Nat!” You called.

She swept around to face you, her lips immediately curling into a smile.

“Y/N, there you are! You look amazing, by the way,”

“Thanks! You look amazing too!” You replied, hoping she couldn’t see the red in your cheeks as you blushed.

As you took the last swallow of your drink, she stepped closer to you.

“I’m probably gonna leave soon, I’m not really in the mood for a party.” She said. “But, before I do, wanna dance?”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She smiled, then grabbed your hand as she led you to the dance floor.

For a few moments, the two of you stole glances at each other while moving your body along to the song. It was going fine.

Until it wasn’t.

A slow song started playing.

You were about to suggest to leave the dance floor when she shrugged, then wrapped her arms around you.

Natasha was touching you. Her hands were on your shoulders as she pulled you closer to her. She was actually dancing with you.

You let out a shaky breath before placing your hands on her waist.

As you stared into her eyes, all you wanted to do was close the gap in between you and kiss her right then and there.

However, the nerves in your stomach were stopping you. As much as you tried to stop it by slowing your breaths, you felt the anxiety getting worse.

“Ow!” She said suddenly, pulling away from you.

You gasped, realizing that you had once again used your powers without meaning to. This time, Natasha got hurt from it.

“I’m sorry,” was all you managed to get out before dashing away from her, and out of the building.

Natasha watched you run out, her mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.

She wasn’t mad. Disappointed, yes. But not because you hurt her. She knew you had pyrokinesis, something must have trigged your powers. She was mostly disappointed because of how you left her.

The burn barely even stung anymore.

She walked off the dance floor, attempting to follow you.

While Natasha was unsuccessful at finding you, she was lucky enough to find one of your best friends.

“Peter!” She called, walking up to him.

“Hi Ms Romanoff,” he replied, grinning.

“I’ve been over this with you, call me Natasha or Nat.”

“Right, sorry, Nat,”

“It’s fine, I wanted to talk to you about Y/N anyways,”

“What about her?”

As soon as your name was mentioned, he tensed up. Had things not gone well between you and Natasha?

“She ran out on me,” she told him. “We were on the dance floor, and something set her powers off ‘cause she burned me. She apologized, then just ran off without another word,”

“Oh no...” he replied, frowning.

“Do you know why her powers could’ve been acting up? Is something going on that’s causing that?” She asked.

“No-” he replied too quickly.

Natasha caught onto this.

“Peter... what’s going on?”

She took a step closer to him, narrowing her eyes.

He gulped, looking to the floor.

“I told you, Ms. Romanoff, nothing’s happening,”

She took another step closer.

“If you don’t tell me right now...”

“She likes you-” he got out just as she was leaning in again.

“What?” She asked, finally stepping away.

“Oh god, she’s gonna kill me now.”

“What do you mean she likes me?”

“Nothing, I-I gotta go-”

Just as he was about to run off, she grabbed his wrist.

“Oh no you’re not. Sit down. You’re going to tell me everything.”

The next morning, your heart dropped to your stomach when you got a text from Natasha asking you to meet her in the training room.

You had spent the rest of last night, and a good portion of this morning watching sad episodes of Supergirl.

You closed your laptop right as Lena shouted the words, ‘I KILLED MY BROTHER FOR YOU, FOR OUR FRIENDS! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE DONE?’

Carol was right about you and Natasha being like Kara and Lena. You could’ve been one of the greatest pairings ever, but instead you ruined it when you burned her and ran out.

You let out a slow breath, preparing for her to yell at you for hurting her and want nothing to do with you ever again.

You texted her back, saying that you were coming as you finally changed out of your pajamas.

You could already feel your palms heating up as your heartrate increased on the walk. You were trying so hard to stop it, but there was already a little smoke.

When you opened the door to the training room (which you had to do by pushing with the side of your body, since you were worried you could accidentally burn the door with your hands) you tensed up at the sight of her.

She didn’t look mad.

In fact, she was smiling at you.

She walked over to you, then started to put a hand on your shoulder, before you backed away abruptly.

“You okay?” She asked gently.

You weren’t sure how to respond as you balled your fists, doing whatever you could to get your powers to stop.

“It’s okay, and you’re okay,” she told you, leaning in close. “Take a deep breath with me,”

Had this happened earlier, it would’ve been embarrassing for Natasha to bring your nerves down like this. But now, it didn’t feel embarrassing. In fact, it felt safe.

She made you feel safe.

Once you felt okay, you gave her a small smile. She returned your smile, then took your hands in her own.

You almost tensed up again, but soon felt relaxed as she ran her thumb over your knuckles.

You stared at each other for a few moments of comfortable silence before she leaned in closer.

“So, about your little Operation Fire Widow...”

“Oh my gosh, um- it’s not what it sounds like! I promise, it’s-”

She brought a finger to your lips, interrupting you.

Your cheeks turned bright red as she moved her finger under your chin so you’d look her in the eyes.

“Y/N, I think you are adorable,” she said, smiling. “In fact, I’d really like to take you on a date, if that’s alright with you?”

You couldn’t believe what she was saying.

Natasha Romanoff, the intimidatingly, scary, spy who could easily kill you in two seconds if she wanted to, liked you back.

Suddenly feeling a surge of confidence, you leaned forward and kissed her.

Your lips fit so perfect on hers as you smiled into the kiss.

She moved her hand around the back of your neck, and moved the other through your hair.

She softly bit your lip, prompting you to allow her entrance. Her tongue explored your mouth as you leaned in even closer to her.

You didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, but unfortunately air soon became an issue.

You were practically gasping for breath by the time you finally disconnected your lips.

She couldn’t help but smile at you, reconnecting your hands.

“So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x yn #soft natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x fem reader #natalia alianovna romanova

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talesofstyles · 3 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

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